


nine hundred and seventy-two miles

by MajorEnglishEsquire



Series: PWP: Pie Without Plot [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comedy, M/M, PWP: Pie Without Plot, Post-Season/Series 08, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:03:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3346241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorEnglishEsquire/pseuds/MajorEnglishEsquire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That's how far the food truck got on their first trip out.</p><p>Prompted by <a href="http://deanhugchester.tumblr.com/post/100419770450/so-i-see-this-and-of-course-i-think-of-pie">a photo taken by deanhugchester</a> and originally posted <a href="http://apocalypse-patisserie.tumblr.com/post/100443978083/deanhugchester-so-i-see-this-and-of-course-i">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nine hundred and seventy-two miles

That's how far the food truck got on their first trip out, on their way to Greenville, SC.

They followed Dean in the Impala down I-40, east. On long stretches they could hear him crank the stereo and AC/DC whipped past them in the wind. Cas was still pretty new to long-distance driving, in a hulking truck no less, and Sam was taking a turn so he could rest.

Cas dozed in the passenger seat, head lolling.

Exit 54 was just coming up and Cas shook himself, roused as if sensing they were about to stop for gas or something, but he said, calmly, almost as if commenting on the scenery, "We just blew a tire."

Sam snorted. "You were dreaming, dude, we didn--"

A wobble underneath him, a flapping, slapping sound, and the muscles in Sam's body tensed the way they would to take a kick to the chest as the truck started grinding.

"Shit," Sam eased her off to the shoulder at the right, of all absurd things, muttering "sorry, sorry" at the honks from behind and around him.

The exit sign so close when he turned the truck off.  
It mocked him.

Dean noticed the shift in his rear-view soon enough and parked at the side of the road, threw on the hazards, and jogged back a quarter mile.

He didn't let Sam hear the end of it, of course. Sam knew that would happen. He's not a  _bad driver_. Bad shit just  _happens_  when he's the one driving. It's incredibly terrible luck.

Cas had felt the shift in the wheel well underneath him. Front passenger-side.

They had no spares.

He spent a good long while stroking the metal sides of the truck as if tending to a wounded bird while the Winchesters strategized. They didn't notice him on the phone between coos or else they would have expected the AAA truck that pulled up behind them. He handed over a goddamn Gold Card membership and they simply drove into Asheville in the Impala while the whole thing was handled.

"Triple A," Dean kept repeating, shaking his head. Cas only blinked, as if it were obvious.

(It was, really. Cas was slightly more protective of the truck than they knew, already.)

They had lunch and Sam wanted to visit the Biltmore Estate. Dean and Cas made out down a dormant, snow-dusted garden path and Sam abandoned them to go to the Red Wine & Chocolate seminar.

972 miles. 973 to the proper exit. Late November, North Carolina.


End file.
